


Loaded Deck

by sylph_feather



Category: Magic Kaito, Persona Series, 名探偵コナン | Detective Conan | Case Closed
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fusion, Alternate Universe - Persona, Alternate Universe - Persona Fusion, Dark Hour (Persona 3), Gen, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Metaverse (Persona 5), Minor Character Death, No prior knowledge of persona necessary tbh, Suicide Attempt, no persona characters
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-22
Updated: 2020-03-22
Packaged: 2021-02-25 21:33:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,642
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21732286
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sylph_feather/pseuds/sylph_feather
Summary: A magician and a detective walk into a twisted reality. No, this isn't a joke; they’re on a serious mission to save the collective minds and lives of Tokyo, after all.
Relationships: Hakuba Saguru & Kuroba Kaito | Kaitou Kid, Hattori Heiji & Kudou Shinichi | Edogawa Conan, Kudou Shinichi | Edogawa Conan & Kuroba Kaito | Kaitou Kid, Kudou Shinichi | Edogawa Conan & Mouri Kogorou & Mouri Ran
Comments: 2
Kudos: 81





	1. shuffled in

**Author's Note:**

> suicide will not be the focus of this fic forever, BUT it is the focus of this chapter. Nothing graphic, but you have been warned.
> 
> ...and yes. I decided to rewrite this (screw me, I know).

“Shinichi,” Ran hisses, “you need to pay attention.” 

Ahead of him, a teary eyed student rambles on about the importance of life. She says, “we have help lines to help  _ you”  _ and “if you see something, say something.” 

Shinichi doesn’t listen, really. Neither does at least half the student body, and the ones that do listen put undue worth in the speech. 

Part look traumatized, staring out into the nothing, another place and time altogether. Another part of the not listening camp simply look varying degrees of angry or despondent, as though asking  _ what good would that do? What good DID it do?  _

The other camp, the listening ones, look affronted at despondence, taking the words of repeated PSA jargon as though it is gospel, for something to hold onto. 

People always attempt to rationalize a tragedy. Shinichi knows this, but hopes he is doing a better and more logical job than that lot. 

After all, it’s not like that program worked  _ yesterday,  _ when one of Teitan High’s multitude of students, Ando Kaori, stood in the janitorial closet and held a razor to her arm in an attempt to kill herself.

Shinichi’s quite glad she didn’t know what she was doing. Someone who knew—  _ someone like you  _ enters unbidden into his mind— may have sliced properly, diced arms or thighs in such a way to maximize bloodloss; or “fixed” ( _ could you call it a fix when it’s THIS? _ ) enough of their plan to have perhaps gone faster, or be less curable, or not get caught. 

Now, thankfully, due to that slip up (though one could quantify _ all  _ this as a mistake) that girl is in the hospital, and not a morgue. 

Shinichi, rather than listening the the advocate spit out PSAs, is attempting to analyze two things— the status of Kaori’s condition, and the  _ reason.  _

If Shinichi were a more superstitious person, perhaps he’d grouse it was just his luck (bad, good? Another one of those  _ depends)  _ to be in the hallway when Kaori was… to put it lightly,  _ discovered.  _ To put it not so lightly, a couple went to go catch a steamy break, and instead found a limp Kaori bleeding out on the grimy floor of the janitorial closet. From there, predictable: students, screaming students, teachers, screaming teachers, an ambulance, a stretcher— in that order. 

Shinichi thinks to Ran’s earlier statement of _rude_ when he’d analyzed the situation in those terms _._ He is self aware enough to at least acknowledge that perhaps ignoring this speech which may seriously aid someone else, and that perhaps it is rude to have his brain flip into _detective mode_ and begin to rationalize, analyze, and break down all the chunks about this person he knows only through the jagged and imprecise cuts on her arm he watched dribble onto the dark fabric of the stretcher. 

Shinichi is also pompous enough to shrug it off, to say in his head  _ I know this stuff,  _ and to tune all else out. 

Much to Ran’s irritation. She knows his thoughtful look well enough to know he began to space out (again) a long while back; the student has been replaced by some councilor, talking of trauma and whatnot, indicating a passage of time in lapses of attention given he didn’t  _ notice.  _

Ran’s face says  _ I would punch you if the situation was different.  _ Shinichi at least makes an attempt to school his thoughtful expression into something more appropriate for the occasion; not  _ analytical,  _ something grieving or at least a little less befuddled and concentrated.

Ran’s face unclenches a little as she dispenses a small roll of her eyes, unsatisfied but not willing to push anymore knowing Shinichi. Her face goes back to its placid grief as she sinks away from the speech again— leaving Shinichi to slip right back into his thoughts. 

_ Why would she do it at school?  _

He stares out across the stricken student body. 

_ Is this what she wanted?  _

In truth, to be blunt, Kaori was rather unremarkable. Not in any particularly bad way, just that she was average.  _ Perhaps she wanted to leave an impression.  _

She hadn’t left a note insofar as Shinichi could tell of the snatches he glimpsed, but still, that explanation was very self explanatory and didn’t  _ need  _ a note. 

Still, something didn’t sit right. People who comitted suicide were notoriously…  _ shy,  _ to say the least. They didn’t like going somewhere their loved ones could find them; hence why car lanes, forests, or even hotel rooms* were particularly popular destinations. 

Shinichi was sure (mostly by the openly sobbing gaggle of girls in the front) that Kaori had friends here. 

_ It’s not that abnormal,  _ he tells himself.

xXx

Ultimately, the police agree. 

“Open and shut case of a stressed teen; happens often*,” they say in the precinct, amongst each other. Externally, they are more gentle than that.

Shinichi Kudo likes that he’s involved with the frankness; there’s only so many platitudes he can take without simmering over, thoughts pouring out of an overcooked pot. 

Shinichi of course is not  _ uncaring;  _ he does not like to contemplate his fellow classmates dead or that someone would rather  _ be  _ dead than alive, so he is naturally glad Kaori is recovering. 

However, there is something in the way it all spreads that irks him. Everything he’s seen at school— the obsession with the  _ watching,  _ with the  _ kindness—  _ is only topical; no permanent change, no permanent bettering, just people deluding themselves with their notions because they can’t bear the momentary thought of actions and consequences, so they put up a little public show to say  _ hey, I’m helping.  _ And maybe it was just him, but it seemed as though making this issue a spectacle of bettering oneself temporarily was more rude than being blunt about it. 

xXx

The next day, the literature teacher is weepy as she instructs books to read. 

_ Did she even know Kaori?  _ Shinichi finds himself wondering.

Again, though, perhaps it is the far more existentialist thought of the inevitability of tragedy that has struck the school, crept in and wormed its way into their minds. Shinichi knows, statistically, this is normal. The anger, the grief, the everything— normal.

Maybe he’s just brushed with death too many a time, for though he feels a normal level of sadness at the thought of someone attempting to end their own life, he trek forward with nary a tear in sight. 

xXx

Statistically, Shinichi also knows that one suicide attempt in a high school— particulary one so public— is soon followed*. The sources argue about why; the trauma, the idea of attention, etcetera. 

That doesn’t change the fact that Shinichi knows, logically, he must watch. 

The hallways are subdued especially, but everything is muted to a certain degree. Kudo gets the feeling that the school as a whole is somewhat disassociating, letting their consciousness dissolve into learning and work, and just  _ move on.  _ The fact Kaori will be alright (physically, at least) assures many; Shinichi analyzes this will make them less guilty over moving on with routine, and hopefully less prone to follow her. 

Still, Shinichi watches. Just in case. 

xXx

The descent is slow.

xXx

It starts with snappishness, with moroseness.  _ Finals,  _ people dismiss, even though they know they are being bitchier than normal under this time of stress. Behind their words, everyone dismisses it with that  _ other  _ stressor; Kaori hasn’t recovered, and all that was very public. 

Or well, it’s sort of behind their words, the blame sliding around in the slots of their teeth but the words of Kaori’s suicide attempt wriggling out bluntly. 

In the first week or so, it was delicate waters, everyone’s thoughts and fears staying wrapped around their tongue. Shinichi hated it; didn’t know how to act because everyone had that on their  _ mind  _ but refused to let it out. 

Now, though, the discussions fly easily and bluntly, talk of worries, fears, everything. Shinichi finds  _ this  _ far more easy to navigate. 

That is, until things start morphing into anger. A coping smiles and a nervous laughs of learning to get over the event become grimaces and glares. A community bond strengthened by tragedy dissolves and becomes stabbing fangs to snap at others with. 

Shinichi knows the steps of recovery, and this… they’re moving  _ backwards,  _ collectively. They  _ has  _ been moving forwards, but he notices a sort of chain of unpleasantness that creates a loop of frustration and hurt. 

Snappishness in grieving is not abnormal, though perhaps Shinichi finds it foreign that the “issue” was so publicized and this affected everyone, even outside of anyone that even really  _ knew  _ Kaori. Perhaps it is the thought of  _ I breathe and walk and learn in this hall where someone tried to die,  _ or maybe it is the thought of  _ that could’ve been anyone.  _ Shinichi doesn’t really understand, grown numb to that feeling considering that death has attached its grimy hand to his ankle, insisting he drag loose corpses along. He’s seen so many places of death; this is just another, no matter how personal. 

Ran calls him  _ rude  _ and  _ a little weird  _ at how well he takes everything, snappish herself, so Shinichi tries to act equally as somber so as to not stick out. It’s difficult, carrying out a normal day with a blank expression; he’s not a  _ cheery  _ person by nature, in fact he’s a bit sour and prickly in attitude, but he certainly isn’t outright dour and quietly, ever boiling like the rest of the school. 

He feels the hot water in the hallways, and the temperature only continues to kick up. 

xXx

It’s a month later when Shinichi is staring at the drawn eyebrows and disheveled, overly stressed faces of the student body when he begins to wonder in earnest  _ why aren’t they recovering?  _


	2. deal me in

Now that Shinichi has noticed it, the thought plagues him. Why, why, why hasn’t  _ anyone  _ gotten better at  _ all?  _

The silences in class, the dour mood, the snappishness— suddenly, it’s all so much less normal. How could something that extreme had  _ ever _ rooted itself as normal? 

He wants to— to look into it. Of  _ course  _ he does, he’s a detective, after all. When there is a unclear issue, there is some truth, and it is Shinichi’s life goal to fit the two together like jagged glass, even as it slices his hands. 

The facts are not severe individually, but when he sits and he writes down the list of strange, depressed and violent behaviors that have grown, they are clearly severe in their length. He finishes the list with one important note:  _ and she didn’t die. She recovered.  _

Perhaps if the victim had died, this behavior might’ve been somewhat more… even mentally, Shinichi doesn’t want to use the word  _ excusable.  _ Perhaps  _ explainable _ is the correct term. It is, of course, a tragedy to learn someone in your midst harbored enough desire to go through with a plan to die, and similarly traumatizing to await a long recovery. 

But a week ago, news came: Kaori recovered, fully. Mentally, perhaps not so much, but physically, and in terms of mental capacity? She was fine. 

Shinichi had expected people to rejoice. Nobody had. 

Perhaps most odd was that he himself did not celebrate, either. Happiness was there, but it was as though it was buried beneath the folds, light unable to shine through, a smothered fire. People spoke of Kaori, this time in context of rumours, not regret— some talk of hallucinations, of great looming shadows over all, and a bright scarlet pervading everything. 

“Something,” he informs Ran at lunch, “is wrong.”

Shinichi then, of course, goes a little red, because he has noticed he’s sat himself amongst other girls, pushed himself directly next to Ran. It has a few more connotations than it did when they were in elementary, eating lunch together. The girls next to him whisper, and he catches  _ flirting _ and  _ dating _ on the wind. 

Still, the fact that these whispers are not accompanied by restrained giggles, and the fact that even his embarrassment feels  _ subdued _ … it just brings Kudo back to his  _ point _ . 

He continues on, shaking his head as though that will rid it of blush: “haven’t you noticed that nobody’s gotten  _ better?”  _

“You and your conspiracies,” Sonoko bites back, sharply sliding in before Ran can reply. 

“Mysteries are  _ different  _ than conspiracies,” Shinichi snaps back— though he doesn’t deny that accusation  _ this  _ time, considering his vague idea isn’t very concrete, and does imply something large and shady. 

“I guess I’ve noticed,” Ran admits quietly and hesitantly in agreement. Her face twists towards Shinichi, generalized unconcern present. “It can’t be anything else, though.” 

And,  _ yeah,  _ that’s the problem Shinichi has run into as well:  _ what could it be, then?  _ The answer is nothing, because any answer he comes up with is ridiculous. 

After all, the great Shinichi Kudo would never blaspheme even his  _ wonderings _ with consideration of the supernatural. 

xXx

In his dream, that night, there is a jackal that exists in a void of vibrant red and thick black. It stands dark and proud, black eyes gleaming, and wears a draping of feathers. A red circle on its chest gleams, and it stands upright, revealing the silvery weighted, ancient scale design that traces its chest and arms, triangle on the back of each forepaw that form the holders with the wire of each dragging across the legs, back to the stand emblazoned on its chest.

Shinichi is both an outsider and the jackal itself. 

The mouth opens, revealing rows of dagger sharp teeth, and the jackal says to himself: “they are committing unjust acts. They must be punished.” The jackal’s tongue flicks over its teeth, and the mouth opens again to continue talking to himself, to Kudo. “They use darkness to taint all, to hide all from both them and from yourself, but the truth shall always come to light.” 

The silver scale emblazoned upon it shimmers, all the way from its chest to its sharp forepaws. 

It bends over. “Truth always comes to light,” is echoed into the void, and the dream leaves with one parting message: “say my name.” 

xXx

The next day, the  _ bad  _ becomes  _ worse.  _ Shinichi notes experience  _ all _ in excess, not just the ordinary mild air of depression. They slump in their seats dejectedly, yes, and are exaggeratedly bored most of the time. More worryingly, though, are the fights; one breaks out in the cafeteria, something ultimately petty, some such nonsense about  _ you ditched me  _ that leads to a disproportionately violent reaction (to say the least) from both sides. 

Shinichi is not sure if his tired is normal, but he’s definitely  _ tired.  _

Most of all, he feels as though he’s missing something. 

He says as much to Ran, after the fight (ultimately as pathetic as it was pithy, really) is broken up.

She just looks at him. “Of course you do,” she muses, and for a moment, she looks just as tired as him. 

“I just,” he starts, and for once he gestures, wordless. “I don’t understand,” Kudo settles on. 

Ran could ask  _ what don’t you understand,  _ and Shinichi would likely not have a better answer than  _ everything.  _

She does not ask. 

xXx

Shinichi stares at his laptop, slate gray glinting tauntingly at him.  _ Research  _ seems like a viable next step, but research  _ what?  _

How to get that missing piece, that which is dangling over hi s head, just out of reach, out of sight? He smells it, he swears, but he cannot see it. 

Shinichi feels his mind ooze with the blockage, half of him ready to give up easily (and where do  _ those  _ feelings come from? “Kudo Shinichi” and “give up easy” did  _ not  _ belong together).

Still, part of him believed everyone else: perhaps this process  _ was  _ normal. Why wouldn’t it be? 

He first looks up  _ suicide aftermath.  _ The results are… what he expected, really. The more informative ones just confirm his thoughts, that suicides often cause a cluster of depression, rippling through a community. But these waves… they’re supposed to dissipate, both over social distance and time. Not to mention that Kaori is  _ fine,  _ perhaps the most key factor of it all: an attempt is much different than success. 

After a couple clicks, there is a recommendation for him—  _ based on your searches,  _ it reads, then lists off the terms,  _ Tokyo High School Suicide news,  _ noted as  _ popular search.  _ Shinichi blinks, clicking towards it, and a multitude of articles appear before him. 

It’s easy to extract the basic message: there’s been a rash of suicide attempts— very notably, all  _ attempts,  _ not one single success. Shinichi feels morbid and ungrateful for filing that note in his own mind, but surely suicides are… fairly straightforward and successful. Naturally, certain methods are more or less so*, but surely  _ every single  _ suicide attempt being failed and not by aborting it midway through was  _ unlikely.  _

The other thing is that all the students have been sent to the same hospital as Kaori. Despite the anonymity of the reports, it is easy to extract that this means they are all from  _ close.  _ Close enough to be brought in to the same hospital. 

It… feels significant, but Shinichi cannot fit it into anything. The fact sits there, in his mind, waiting for some string to be threaded through it to draw it to its conclusion, neatly ties together with others, in cohesion. Right now, that thread is loose, yet heavy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *indeed, fatality of suicide is perhaps not as bad as one would be lead to believe… though this does naturally figure in the fact that many stop mid-attempt with a slow/drawn out process (such as cutting), as opposed to being unable to stop a quicker one.


	3. the jack

Shinichi’s first step is,  _ naturally,  _ to investigate. Granted, it’s after a night of sleep; first, he finds himself sleeping feverishly. His night is plagued frozen staring at a jackal with feathers that stares at him from the darkness, looking for all the world to be a part of that shadow, teeth hardened, bright moonlight, a deep red orb embedded in its chest. On waking, he of course identifies it as sleep paralysis— in the moment, it just feels those darker than black holes that make up the thing’s eyes are piercing his soul straight through. 

After clammily waking from that experience, Kudo finds himself calling in sick on Wednesday, taking the subway network to Ekoda, home to one of the closer schools that were specifically listed in the report. 

He realizes the problem as he stands in front of the school, staring at it from across the street. Shinichi does not exactly know  _ what  _ to investigate, or exactly how to get in— after all, he can slip in with the rest of the students, but will be immediately noticeable once divided in classes. So he just… stares. 

That is, until some girl sweeps herself up next to him, close enough to make him blush. Over his stammers, she growls something about prank planning; Shinichi doesn’t really process it over the closeness and the fact that this girl looks  _ eerily _ like Ran, enough so that he automatically assumes she is, against logic. 

A confused “huh?” eloquently drops from his mouth, thudding on the ground clumsily. 

“Normally Aoko would be annoyed,” she informs Shinichi. “But everyone around has been so down, that Aoko isn’t as against it as normal.” Menacingly, she leans in. “Not as much as normal,” she repeats. 

_ Aoko, presumably, being herself?  _ Shinichi wonders, eye twitching. He contemplates— he has two options. Either he pretends to be who she is speaking of, some pranking person; if she hasn’t seen the difference by now, surely he could continue pretending, though such would be laborious with little fact to go on. Still, his acting skills are less than stellar, and there’d not be any point if the ruse was revealed when whoever she was speaking of inevitably showed up. 

Still, he slotted his hands into his pockets, desperately feigning casualness. “And, uh, why do you think that is?” He, after all, had not been given names with the report. 

She looked at him like he was stupid. “Goya tried to commit suicide a while back,” Aoko frowned. “But Akako said that there was…” she took a breath, then her voice shifted to something high pitched, presumably imitating whoever she was talking about, “dark magic afoot in his attempt, and leaking throughout the school, repugnant shadows.” 

Shinichi raised an eyebrow, making a neutral grunting sound. He knew better than to voice his opposition strongly, considering that would make the girl clam up. Basic investigation rules— of course, it was hard to keep the instinctive eye roll in, and not to mention that  _ impersonating someone else  _ was probably a  _ don’t  _ on those rules, even if he was doing it only vaguely.

And just at that thought was when Shinichi’s luck ran out, because he heard a loud, “hey!” and turned to meet his mirror. 

“You’re  _ not  _ Kaito,” Aoko cawed— it didn’t sound confused, but rather…  _ triumphant?  _ “Aoko  _ knew  _ the hair wasn’t right.” She points this out to Kaito, the messy haired double, as though she is critiquing something. “Too dark,” she informs, looking at Shinichi’s black hair in comparison to this Kaito person’s dark brown, “and not bed head.” Leaning in closer (this time to Kaito, not Shinichi), adopting that same half-threatening manner as before, she growls, “what would this one do? Something  _ pervy?”  _ For good measure, she smacks Kaito, yelling out, “you  _ perv!  _ And trying to escape Aoko’s wrath with a fake, too!” 

Kaito laughs, half in fun and half in terror. “You offend me for implying I would not rather do such myself,” he informs mockingly, making a reach for her skirt around the various blows. Aoko smacks him  _ good  _ for that. “And,” he hisses around the pain, shaking his hand out, “for implying I would do anything short of perfection.” 

Shinichi tries to shut his gaping mouth because as if a Ran copy was not enough, there is a  _ him  _ copy, voice and everything. This person… they’re not exactly, precisely him. Kaito’s fingers are longer, his eyes a shade or so lighter, his legs less muscular, and (as Aoko had pointed out) his hair is like Shinichi’s when he wakes up and goes out with it unstyled, as well as a rich brown, not black. Still, it’s enough similarity to trip even the  _ detective _ up. 

Aoko interrupts his thought process with a bark of, “Aoko is not stupid! This is some joke,” she accuses, gaze darting back and forth between the two in comparison. Shinichi practically sees her thoughts—  _ there’s no way that two people look that much alike.  _

Shinichi is processing that himself, really. He  _ could _ very well pass as Kaito— and vice versa. 

Kaito, on the other hand, rounds on him with suspicion. Shinichi would think if he were such a master trickster that Aoko had seemed to believe him to be (creating a whole fake person?!) then he would simply assure her that Shinichi  _ was _ just a normal person. 

Instead, he looks at Shinichi with what reads as an air of suspicion mixed with  _ malice.  _

“Uh, Kudo. Kudo Shinichi,” Shinichi greets, sticking his hand out awkwardly. 

Kaito’s gaze opens with recognition— “the high school detective?” he asks, clasping the offered hand. 

Shinichi turns the exchange into a somewhat cocky slap of the hands. “The one and only,” he confirms, somewhat cheekily. 

Kaito cackles, pitchy and mischievous, turning that slap into a pattern of hi-fives as he knocks his hand against Shinichi’s. “I like you.” 

“What did you want with Aoko?” the girl demands haughtily. 

“Ah, sorry,” Shinichi apologizes, “I just needed to confirm some things.” 

Her eyes widen a little. “For an investigation?” 

Shinichi makes a vague  _ eh  _ sound and rubs his neck. “Sorta,” he alludes. After all, it’s  _ his  _ investigation, albeit not exactly an  _ official  _ one. 

“Aoko’s dad’s a police inspector!” she informs cheerily, “mostly for fraud, not murder,” she adds. “Mostly for Kaito KID,” is the last addition. 

“For all the good that does,” Kuroba jests, shuffling cards in his hand. 

Shinichi watches as a few flip through the air in a twirling dance as Kuroba’s hands fly.  _ Ah.  _ So that’s why Aoko had characterized him as so good at  _ pranks.  _

Aoko thwacks him again. It does not interrupt the flow of movement of the cards. 

“What sorta detective-ing?” asks Kaito, slumped backwards, casual. Almost  _ too  _ casual. Shinichi is unsure what  _ exactly  _ it is, maybe the angle of the shoulders, the tilt of the eyebrows, but something about the pose says that Kuroba is desperately feigning casualness. Which,  _ why?  _

“In relation to the suicide,” Kudo says carefully. 

That almost-invisible tension in Kuroba’s posture lessens.  _ What did he  _ think _ I was going to ask?  _ Shinichi files that away in that unending folder of suspicions and faint notes of behavior. 

Kudo runs his tongue along his teeth, feeling a little on edge just  _ thinking  _ too much about the topic, something that makes his hair stand on edge because he isn’t  _ normally _ averse to these sorts of thoughts. “Something isn’t right about it.”

“You can talk to Aoko later,” Aoko says distractedly over him, pushing past Shinichi and Kuroba after a glance at her phone, presumably a glance that revealed class began soon. She frowns back at him as she passes— “don’t you have school, too?” 

Shinichi laughs a little, nervous.

“Oh, I definitely like you,” Kuroba nods, mischief and approval in his eye. To his surprise, Kuroba sticks around and drops his casual, mischievous air once Aoko is gone. “People aren’t feeling better, are they,” he puts in, not really a question. Under his breath, he murmurs something like, “that witch was right.” Suddenly, his focus shifts to somewhere  _ behind  _ Shinichi. “Speak of the devil,” Kaito jests with something of exasperation coloring his tone. 

Shinichi wheels around to face a sharp looking girl with long, deep red hair. Her eyes sparkle red—  _ contacts,  _ Shinichi assumes. 

“Ah, the shinigami,” she greets to Shinichi, “and the phantom.” 

Kaito bows elaborately at  _ phantom,  _ as though he is on a joke, or acting. He then shoots a grin at Kudo. “Ominous,” he observes at the  _ shinigami _ comment, wiggling his fingers, little pops of black smoke adding to the wobbling voice. The other hand remains occupied with the deck. 

Shinichi squints at the girl as she approaches him. 

“Ah, truth seeker, truth seer,” she hums dramatically, “the dog who will snap at the dark and the dove who will shine it away, if the dog first does not turn its dark-stained fangs on the dove in a rabid rage on another’s leash.” 

“Lovely poetry,” Shinichi deadpans. 

“For you, that’s a fairly obvious one, Akako,” Kaito hums. He looks at Shinichi. “Don’t bite me,” Kuroba jestingly instructs. 

Shinichi just shoots him a look and manages an “oi, oi,” in exasperation. “If all you have to offer me is…  _ this—“  _ he refrains from saying  _ magical bull—  _ “then it’s a waste of my time.” 

“You’ll change your tune soon enough,” Akako purrs. She steps over to Kudo, a hand settling on his shoulder. “Maybe sooner,” she hums, and something in those eyes sparks red,  _ a trick of the light.  _

And then Shinichi is distracted by more important things, like the jittery shadows that overtake his vision. Everything just… there is no other word than  _ flickers,  _ and it all warps sickeningly, a view of a world of harsh black and white, a brilliant red oozing throughout. Sludgy shadows run like a river, cutting through the bright, oversaturated color. It all makes his head hurt. 

It’s brief. When Kudo comes to once more, he is doubled over with his hands on his head, fingers dug into his hair painfully. Surprisingly, Kaito is standing over him, between him and the witch, looking somewhat protective and  _ definitely  _ angry. The cards are still in his hands, and held oddly like weapons, as though he could throw them and slice her. 

“Ugh,” Shinichi spits out eloquently, shaking himself off. 

“My apologies,” Akako says in a way that suggests she is not sorry at all. “I did not realize your sight was so strong,” she says, as though it is a compliment and an excuse in one. 

Shinichi shoots her a look. “Get less potent stuff, then,” he bites in a jab, shuddering at the thought that she was able to— do…  _ something  _ to him. Hallucinatory gas or the like is his best guess; some concoction that ups the adrenaline, based on his shakiness and nausea, based on that fear reaction. 

“Still disbelieving,” she hums, shaking her head. 

Kuroba once again places himself between her and Kudo, as though Akako is some venomous snake waiting to strike. “What did you do to him?” 

Shinichi just brushes himself off. “I’m fine,” he assures Kuroba, though it doesn’t do much good if his tense face is anything to go by. 

“Are you suddenly in love, or something?” Kuroba prods, poking at him as though sticking fingers at Shinichi’s shoulder will answer that out of the blue question. 

“Uh,” Shinichi blinks, “can’t say I am,” he asserts, confusion and unsureness pitching his voice. Questions of these people’s general sanity flit around his head. 

“Hm,” Kuroba grunts, then pokes him again for good measure while sending a pointed look at Akako. 

Akako, on the other hand, is looking at Kudo like he fascinates her. “You saw all that,” she muses, “and you still don’t believe?” 

“All  _ that  _ can be faked,” Shinichi informs huffily. 

Akako blinks owlishly at him. “As with most of strong power, you have oddities about you,” she muses. “Amazing, that you can tail death, yet you presume nothing,” she muses. 

“Kudo Shinichi does seem to simply  _ come across  _ cases quite often, in reports,” Kuroba dutifully points out. 

“Whose side are you on?” Shinichi caws at his double. 

“You have a supernatural knack for such,” Akako confirms again, making a show as though to look at what Kudo cannot see. She narrows her eyes at him again. “And  _ still  _ you disbelieve?” 

Kaito waves his phone in the air. “It says you run into 2.4 cases in an average month, at least 70% of which seem to be accidentally found, rather than you being called there,” he points out, then blinks at the thing, seeming to be somewhat astonished. 

“The dog’s nose, drawn to seeking out the truth in the stench of death,” Akako frames it poetically. 

“A dog again,” Shinichi observes bitingly. 

Akako eyes him. “I see it, in your heart, in your mind, in your soul. Dark eyes, dark fur, blood-scarlet orb, feathers of raven death,” she purrs. 

Shinichi thinks of the jackal of his dreams. The listed features are… specific. More specific than he’d like— but  _ surely,  _ such is simply another trick, another deception that wants the mind to fold, to see its pattern. Dreams are watery after all, and even the memory of them can be manipulated* in accordance to later information, later thought. Perhaps the thing he saw in those sweating dreams was a mere shadow, and the memory has shaped itself now to that description. 

Akako, at least, seems to give up on him as a lost cause, turning around towards the school. Over her back, she informs, “you shall believe eventually.” She pauses. “I hope you do so sooner, for your sake and those you care about— lest the darkness drown them all.” 

Kuroba is looking at him with something of a mix of concern and fascination, and perhaps a hint of excitement (lest Shinichi’s eyes betray him— and they almost never do). 

Akako studies Shinichi for a long moment, smile growing impossibly sharper. “Well, for when you do believe it, if you believe in time: it is a test, detective,” she hums. And with that, she walks away. 

Kuroba watches after her, sparing a glance at Shinichi, expression unreadable. “You should listen to her,” he says cryptically, flicking the cards away in a smooth motion that makes them disappear with a last glint of their glossy white, and turning towards school as well.

xXx

Shinichi spends the rest of the day catching people skulking around, ditching or on off periods, and later on lunch. They all give a relatively similar take, if they knew Goya— that everything had seemed fine, that nobody (even family) could’ve guessed at suicidal thoughts, let alone a motive considering the abruptness. Same song and dance as Kaori, same mystery. 

Something in Shinichi’s brain, something that very oddly reminded him of those stark, hallucinatory grease-fat like drippings of shadow, something that nagged him that it was  _ nothing.  _ Those thoughts rumbled on about the  _ mere coincidence of tragedies.  _

But there was another part that punted those thoughts away and  _ insisted  _ there was  _ something.  _

But,  _ ah—  _ where to go next, if everything was so out of the blue…? Shinichi wasn’t sure what he was even following; outside of same day and proximity, the suicides appeared to have little in common— he would have to investigate the other schools, of course, as he still had a vague dataset to draw any sort of correlations from, but he sincerely doubted he’d be  _ able _ to dig up a connection. 

Asides from that, Shinichi wondered what that connection could  _ be.  _ There was no such thing as coincidence in this work, yes, but the logical explanation… how could one explain some kind of connection between seemingly unrelated  _ choices?  _ Of seemingly unrelated people? More and more, it felt like a wild conspiracy. 

And…  _ why, why, why  _ are the thoughts in his head so conflicting? Shinichi feels like his mind might tear himself apart, thoughts spinning like rabid animals. The rational part of his mind bays its teeth that there is no logical connection but also that there is  _ something  _ significant in the proximity (in both location and time). There are other parts, though,  _ foreign  _ things; one that insists a simple drone of  _ no no no stop thinking about it no no no,  _ and another that is abnormally aggressively insistent at there being  _ something _ . Their teeth dig into one another, opposing. 

_ Another mystery, _ the great detective supposes, trying to shake the snarling, snapping thoughts away. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *memory has been tested significantly, largely in relation to eyewitness stuff (which… scary), and it has been found it takes very few “false facts” from a placed informant in these tests to suddenly get people to “rethink” and misremember the suspect. Memory is not infallible in the least, and can be changed to suggestion/thought (unconsciously). 
> 
> Technically in canon, Shinichi’s hair is brown as well, but… consider this:   
> One: I headcanon there are some subtle differences between Kaito & Shinichi, because it’s just weird for them to look COMPLETELY alike with no (confirmed) relation  
> Two: old anime style has my heart and it’s darker/black there   
> Three: i do what i want 
> 
> Similarly, I like to think Kaito isn’t “perfect at everything” so yea sometimes he slips up at lies, tricks, etc. See reason three above. See also: I’d rather him not be on the point of annoyingly, ridiculously skilled.
> 
> Thank you for your consideration.

**Author's Note:**

> *people check into places like motels with no expectation of checking out of it often. Many hotels have “plans” already— both before something happens (things to catch a falling person) and… after (covers, etc). This is particularly prominent in Vegas.   
> *as of 2014, suicide is the leading cause of death for young people in Japan. In America, it is the 2nd.   
> *suicide is often referred to as a “contagion” because of the emotional impact it makes. A suicide at school (or a similsr institutional, frequent, normally stable setting) can lead to the forming of a “point cluster” in which several more suicides follow. (This is opposed to a “mass cluster” where this happens but regardless of space; this oft occurs becauze of news outlets, ie when a celeb commits suicide. Both these types can be conjoined with an “echo cluster” where the traumatic event of suicide sticks with someone and plays a role in their own suicide, even when much time passes). 
> 
> I would know the way a school responds to trauma, wouldn’t I? After all, I am a school shooting victim, baby! 
> 
> This isn’t meant to necessarily come off as bitter to generalized school support systems (though perhaps I am). Such things can definitely be a help. Mostly I believe it to be delusional that sort of thing can catch everything (etc) and that it doesn’t even have much power in the grand scheme (and then you get into issues of corruption, too).


End file.
